This Heart Will Not Collapse
by DivineDebris
Summary: Hermione returns to Hogwarts after the war. Harry and Ron have gone on to Auror training, but there's still one other who understands. Someone else who helped defeat Voldemort. Someone else who knows her heart. Written for Round 2 of the Quidditch League FanFiction Competition. Rated T for mushy romance.


**This Heart Will Not Collapse**

It felt strange to see Hogwarts in such pristine condition when just a few short months ago it was in ruins. Neville could still feel the echoes of the screams within its walls as he stared at the unconquerable stone.

"Hey, Neville. Didn't know you'd be coming back." Dean Thomas appeared with a solemn smile, taking a deep breath as he gazed at the castle beside his friend.

"Oh… right." Neville shrugged. The war had hardened his spirit and treaded on his soul. If Pomona Sprout hadn't begged from her hospital bed at St. Mungo's for Neville to fill in as a substitute in Herbology, Neville would have been long gone. "Well, actually, I'm just here to—"

"Oi, Dean!" The voice of Seamus Finnigan rang out across the field. "Quit your dawdling, you two, the feast is bound to start soon."

Dean waved to Neville as he joined his best friend, and Neville strolled slowly behind as several thestral-drawn carriages arrived at the front gates.

Sighing with his hands in the pockets of his robes, Neville strode uncertainly toward the castle.

* * *

Hermione tried to suppress her joy at being back at school, but returning to a Hogwarts completely free from the clutches of The Dark Lord and his Death Eaters filled her spirit with an incomprehensible sense of joy and relief. Her parents were home safely with memories intact, Harry had overthrown Lord Voldemort, Bellatrix was dead… Life was perfect.

Then with a sting Hermione remembered what had happened within the very castle walls – Ron's dear brother, Fred, had died. Life wasn't perfect at all. The loss of his brother had affected him so deeply that he promptly cut off the blossoming relationship between himself and Hermione – but Hermione could hardly blame him. They had all suffered loss, and many were finding it difficult to see the light amidst the ever settling dust of death.

Hermione watched carefully as the sorting ceremony began and welcomed many of the first years who joined the throng of Gryffindors. They far outnumbered those of her age who had opted to return for a revised final year, and Hermione finally felt the twinge of loneliness. Ron and Harry had no desire to return to Hogwarts, as Hermione well understood. But with only a handful of her classmates left – none of which had ever been the confidants and cherished friends that Ron and Harry had been – the outlook of the coming year was looking to be more dismal than she'd anticipated.

Professor McGonagall, the new Headmistress, rose to the podium and gazed with carefully composed sadness at the students.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts—" Her voice nearly cracked several times throughout the introductions, and it almost brought Hermione to tears. "—It is under cheerless circumstances that I lead you now as headmistress, though I am certain with time that we will all be able to rise above the darkness that plagued these halls for so long. Now, it is requisite that I introduce those who have obligingly agreed to take up post as new professors at Hogwarts."

Hermione's eyes darted toward the staff table. Professor Sprout was still in St. Mungo's, and a few of teachers had died in the war, but several of the chairs remained unfilled.

Then, to Hermione's surprise, the headmistress began calling the unfamiliar names, and various wizards and witches filed in through a back entrance of the Great Hall. She was storing the names of the professors away in her brain when a specific name jerked her back to reality.

"…And Neville Longbottom, who has agreed to take Pomona Sprout's place as she continues to recover from the curses inflicted in the Battle at Hogwarts, will be our new Herbology Professor."

Murmurs echoed throughout the Great Hall, but Hermione didn't hear them. Her heart swelled as she realized that someone else who'd gone through a portion of her tortures was there with her – a confidant – _a friend_.

Professor McGonagall nodded toward the new staff and continued. "I am certain you will offer our new teachers the utmost respect, and now – before the feast begins I would like to take a moment to remember those who have fallen and those whose skills and unmatched bravery led to the demise of Lord Voldemort."

The room grew deathly quiet.

"As you may well be aware by now, Voldemort used the darkest of magic to split his soul into several pieces in an attempt to secure his immortality. Through the courage and fortitude of a handful of wizards and witches, those portions of his soul were annihilated. We wish to honor them at this time, and, for those of you who are present, please stand when I call your name."

Hermione's heart sped rapidly beneath her robes. This was too much, and frankly she didn't know how she'd be able to stand in front of the entire student body without crying or looking like some sort of idiot.

"To Harry Potter, whose unremitting courage and love allowed him to defeat Voldemort, not once, but numerous times."

Several people glanced around hopefully, only to be disappointed at The Chosen One's absence. Hermione knew Harry wouldn't have wanted the attention, and with his new post in the Ministry as an Auror in Training she knew he'd be happier.

"To Albus Dumbledore, whose unparalleled skill thwarted dark wizards time and time again, defeating The Dark Lord in such a way that it ultimately cost him his life."

Sniffles and tears scattered throughout the hall. He was a headmaster who would be missed for all time.

"To Ronald Weasley, who overcame tribulation to conquer his fears and destroy Voldemort against all odds."

Hermione braced herself for the name she knew was coming.

"To Hermione Granger, who suffered torture of all kinds to aid Harry Potter and help end the Dark Lord."

Hermione rose, shaking as people turned to face her from all corners of the room. She couldn't do this, not in front of all these people, not for another second…

"And to Neville Longbottom, who endured constant torment and agony, finally succeeding in destroying the last concealed portion of Voldemort's soul."

Her eyes flickered upward as Neville rose. His eyes were locked on hers, and for a moment it seemed as though they were the only two beings in the entire world. He'd understood the heartache that now seeped in her veins, and she couldn't help but lock herself onto Neville's deepening gaze. It was like an anchor – or some kind of powerful magnet – and she gave in to its pull.

Claps rang out, and unwilling tears sprang from Hermione's eyes as she smiled. She wasn't alone.

* * *

Six weeks into the start of term Neville wiped dirt on the front of his work robes. It was his last class of the day, and most of the Advanced Herbology students had already filed out. Finally there was only one student left.

"Having a bit of trouble, Miss Granger?" He smirked, knowing how it got under her skin when he called her that.

"Of course not, _Professor_," she huffed determinedly, still trying to extract the seeds from a particularly stubborn Rancorous Rockweed plant.

Neville sighed, leaning a bit closer. "No, Hermione, you've got to _coax_ the pod open. You can't just force it."

To his surprise Hermione slapped her table on the table. "You know what? I give up. I can't do this."

He leaned toward her with a look of deep concern. "You know, I've seen you for weeks, Hermione, smiling and chatting like nothing bad ever happened here. But I know it's all pretense – I can see how much you're hurting inside. What's really the matter?"

She brought her eyes upward, which looked painfully close to tears. "I can't do this, Neville – not without Harry and Ron. _I can't do this alone._" A single, miserable tear slid down her cheek, and Neville's heart immediately felt for her.

"Hermione, you're _not_ alone." He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and to his surprise she emitted a slight shiver.

"Are you all right? Are you cold?" He looked around, wondering if he had a few blankets nearby.

Hermione's eyes widened slightly. "Oh – yes, I'm fine. I… think I'd like to try to harvest the seeds again."

She brought her hand to the Rockweed plant, but it hissed at her shaky touch.

"Hermione, perhaps, I could show you how it's done." She nodded silently, hitching her breath slightly as Neville took her hand.

"You see, the skin around one of these pods is a lot like the palm of someone's hand." He rubbed his thumb gently across her smooth skin, surprised at how she shivered again. "You have to get it to trust your touch, to feel what you want it to feel." He began rubbing firm, gentle circles against her palm with his thumb, and he felt Hermione exhale a light shudder.

"And then what?" she breathed.

"Then you grab the beans, and run like hell." Neville drew his hand away with a teasing laugh.

Hermione's cheeks flushed a deep pink as she slid her hand toward the plant. "Right," she shook her head, "I think I've got it now."

"All right then, _Miss Granger_, you let me know if you need any more help." He returned to the front of the room to tend to his plants but stole a glance in Hermione's direction, wondering if he'd imagined Hermione's reaction to his touch. Sure, he'd asked her out a few times in their younger years, but the war had honed them into two completely different individuals since then.

Hermione was intelligent, and fierce, and unalterably scarred from the war, but it made her all the more beautiful, and Neville couldn't help but wonder if her feelings toward him were equally capable of change.

* * *

Hermione blushed as _Professor Longbottom _cornered her in an empty corridor. Two weeks had passed since their encounter in Herbology, and it didn't take her long to realize why Herbology was becoming such a favored subject, not just with her, but with her younger peers as well. Neville had become a _man_ during the war – a hero, no less – and it suited him.

"Hermione, I've been trying to find you." He sounded out of breath, and she had to bite back a smile.

"I was in the library, _Professor._" Her eyes sparkled.

"Right." He pulled a thin package from his robes. "I got something for you."

"What's this?" She bit her lip, suppressing a smile. She tore open the wrappings to find a picture of herself, Harry, and Ron, flanked by several members of Dumbledore's Army from their fifth year. It was adorned with an antique, bronze frame, filigreed around the corners.

"Whether they're here or not, Hermione, you have friends who love you and care about you, and you should know that no matter where we are – you're not alone."

Hermione was speechless, staring at the picture with an overwhelming sense of tenderness.

"I – hope the frame's all right. I asked Gran if I could have it, and she nearly sent me a Howler."

In an impulse she threw her arms around Neville's shoulders. "It's perfect, Neville. It really is."

Inhaling his warmth she realized that Neville smelled deeply of freshly mown grass. The scent made her pull nearer, and she found herself closer than she'd ever been to Neville Longbottom.

"I'm so glad you're here," she whispered against his neck.

She felt Neville kiss her hair, and her eyes fluttered closed as her arms tightened around his neck.

"Hermione," Neville breathed against her ear in a way that made her skin tingle.

"Yes?" Her heart thudded heavily as his hand swept a strand of hair from her cheek to her ear.

"Students and professors aren't allowed to form romantic attachments." He spoke as though the prospect irritated him greatly, and he only drew his arms more tightly around her waist until there was scarcely room for a scrap of parchment.

"You're just a substitute. It doesn't count." She felt every hardened muscle from his chest and hoped to the gods that he wouldn't pull away.

Neville kissed her temple and across her cheek bone. His lips were so close it made Hermione dizzy – But was she really ready to open up her heart to someone else – to Neville?

The answer was incontrovertibly _yes._ His lips finally met hers, and Hermione found her hands clutching the neck of his robes to keep from collapsing from the strange lightheadedness that encompassed her senses. Their kiss deepened, and Hermione felt more alive than she'd felt in weeks as she surrendered to every touch Neville offered.

After a minute or two – _or perhaps ten_ – Neville pulled away breathlessly. "Hermione, Professor Sprout is coming back."

"What?" Hermione's heart plummeted. "You'll have to leave?"

"Well, I _could _stay – as an assistant."

Hermione frowned. "Then why don't you look pleased?"

"I've also been offered a place in the Auror Training Program at the Ministry."

Anyone could see that the latter was the superior option. Hermione summoned up her chipper façade. "That's fantastic, Neville. You'll be with Harry and Ron, and you'll get to live in the city."

Neville lifted Hermione's chin until she was staring into his conflicted gaze. "But would _you_ have it any other way?"

Her heart fluttered. She wanted Neville to stay, but it was the selfish option. He deserved to go on to bigger and better things. She clasped his hand tightly between her fingers.

"_No matter where we are_, I'm not alone." She managed a half-smile that would hopefully be believable enough to Neville – _and to herself_.

"Just say the word, and I'll come back for you." His gaze was deep, and Hermione could see there was no lie in his eyes.

"You just _had_ to kiss me, Neville…" she sighed.

Without warning he drew her in his arms, kissing her with every ounce of passion he'd ever shown her.

"And I'll kiss you again. And Again. And Again." He pressed his lips softly against her skin. "That's a promise. This isn't goodbye."

Hermione smiled hopefully as Neville disappeared around the corner. His parting words filled her spirit with an incomprehensible sense of joy and relief. She'd conquer the school year, and she had no doubt that Neville would be by her side at the end of it all.

_Life wasn't perfect, but it would be... soon._

* * *

**Criteria:** Write a fic based on the following lyrics: "_I give up, I give in; To the whole of your skin. I give up, I give in; Am I doing this again?" _– This Heart by Mary Lambert

**Thanks for reading. I adore Neville/Hermione and have never had a chance to try writing for that pair. w00t! Hope you liked! -V**


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